


yesterday upon the stair

by mushydesserts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Missing Scene, Psychological Horror, Sex Pollen, Sickfic, but the worst sickfic, creepy sex, do not fuck the trashbag full of demons kids, mild body horror, sort of sex pollen, this is basically weird pseudo-incubus porn not gonna lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushydesserts/pseuds/mushydesserts
Summary: The boys share a caravan with a suspicious stranger, as if two thousand years' worth of daemons weren't singing in his veins. Ardyn and Gladio get the bed.(Or, the one where the daemons act up at night, and it leads to sex. Kinkmeme fill, oneshot.)





	yesterday upon the stair

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=6057233#cmt6057233).
> 
> I am resigned. I'm going to be writing bizarre one-night stands for Gladio for the rest of my life.

 

There wasn't enough room in the caravan for four full-grown men to be comfortable on the best of days, and five was more than pushing it.

Setting up tent was out of the question, as beyond being a waste of energy and money, it meant breaking the group apart — Prompto seemed uncomfortable with the stranger, and neither Ignis nor Gladio intended to leave Noct alone with him either. They considered drawing straws for spots, but eventually worked out the sleeping arrangement via pragmatism as much as anything: Prompto and Noct being the only ones of a height to fit comfortably on the couches, Ignis sleeping on the floor between them (as a guard, none of them said aloud), and Ardyn and Gladio taking the two-person bed.

Ardyn _was_ footing the bills. It seemed only fair that he should get the bed. Gladio hadn't wanted to share either, but at the very least, he would be positioned between Ardyn and the others, and he'd be in the best position to keep an eye on the man.

The evening had gone by uncomfortably but uneventfully, their small-talk cut short and shallow by politeness and caution. Ardyn didn't seem to want anything with them other than to share trashy rumors and speculation about state politics, and to recount obscure old folklore, recited for their benefit with delight in an old dialect that would be more befitting a professor of linguistics than an agent of the Empire.

(They still couldn't rule out that possibility. But what other option did they have but to go along with whatever plan it was he had in mind for them? As long as he was aiding rather than hindering them, and as long as they kept him happy, perhaps his superiors would be content to let them all be.)

Shortly after dinner, Ardyn — Ardyn without a surname, Ardyn, man of no consequence — had raised his face to the west, last rays of sunlight fading on the blood-red tips of his hair. He had hummed thoughtfully.

"The sun does set early these days, doesn't it?" he'd said.

"Yeah, sure does," Prompto had said, only his tempered tone giving away any sign of unease. "Shame, huh? Less time on the road." _More time shacking up with the weirdoes in our midst_ , went unsaid.

Ardyn had raised a hand to his hat, swooped into a small bow ("It's not a bow, it's like he _curtsies,_ " Noct had said in the car earlier, unnerved). "I'm afraid I shall be retiring for the night. Do feel free to carry on without me."

"So soon?" Noct had sounded barely rueful, and if anything, hopeful. Ignis had shot him a look, as if to say, _Don't tempt him._

"Unlike you lovely young men, a man of my years must have his beauty sleep," Ardyn had said demurely, and had swooped past them into the caravan, long legs carrying him by with a whisper of ragged robes. 

Ignis had looked to Gladio, and Gladio had looked between Noct and Prompto. In grim looks exchanged, they came to a silent agreement: best not to let the stranger unattended in their living quarters for the night.

Gladio finished his drink, bid them goodnight and ducked into the caravan.

The space was quiet, dim and stifling in the summer heat. Gladio had to bend slightly and twist to navigate the tight corridor, raising his arms to avoid the dips in the ceiling, the cupboards and shelves. The low lamplight was hardly sufficient illumination. He looked over his shoulder, squinting at the bugs lazily circling the light fixture above the door, and then continued on into the depths of the structure.

Gladio approached the sleeping area carefully. The red-haired man had already settled onto the bed at the end of the caravan, half-sitting, half-reclined against a pillow on the headboard. His eyes were closed, his hat resting on his lap. The back of one gloved hand was pressed against his forehead, his brow slightly furrowed. He looked like a fainting maiden in a painting, Gladio thought warily — the maidens that led warriors to their deaths with their distress, as the old tales always went.

"You all right?" Gladio said.

Ardyn's eyes remained closed. "Quite," he sighed. "I'm afraid I'm slightly under the weather."

Gladio folded his arms, leaning against the thin wall. "You ill or something?" He wouldn't put biological warfare past the Empire, and the Lucian royal bloodline wasn't about to be cut short by disease, if he had anything to say about it.

Ardyn opened his eyes, a flutter of lashes and a flash of bronze that made Gladio's skin crawl. "Nothing to be concerned about. I'm often a tad out of sorts in the evenings," he said. He smiled weakly. "Merely something that you must learn to live with, when you reach a certain age."

He didn't look _that_ old to Gladio, but Gladio wasn't about to question him. "As long as it ain't contagious," he said.

Ardyn chuckled. "If only," he said. "Or so I used to say. Misery loves company. But no. I've lived with it a long time." Alone, he clearly meant, and the reassurance was slightly wistful.

Gladio pushed away from the wall lightly and started to shed his jacket. He tried not to think about Iris, sick and trying to act stronger than she was; about Noct, and those lost years of healers and hospital beds. "You let us know if you get worse, or you want to get looked at," he said, quieter. Better that they have warning, if he was lying about not coming down with anything he could spread. "Need anything else?"

"Rest," Ardyn said, turning his face away tiredly. "That's all."

Gladio let him be as he readied himself for sleep.

The weather was too warm for blankets, so Gladio took the other side of the bed, gingerly sitting on top of the coverlet. The man on the other side did not turn or stir. His chest rose and fell, regular rhythm.

Gladio leaned against the headboard next to the lamp and opened a book from his pack. He read until he could hear the creak of the others on the floorboards at the other end of the caravan, faint voices floating through before hushing. Then he finished his chapter and turned off the lamp.

 

The stranger started stirring long before midnight.

They'd been to bed for at least an hour, and nighttime quiet had long fallen over the caravan, occasional cricket chirp from outside aside. Gladio had barely had a chance to rest his eyes, too tense about sharing his bed with an unknown entity, when said entity let out a drawn-out sigh.

Gladio turned his head. The figure was a lump in the dark, a space between them the width of another body. It twitched slightly, the line of a shoulder jerking, a deep inhale. Gladio stayed still, waiting, but the man didn't show any indication of being awake.

Some minutes passed, and the man let out a low moan.

Gladio sat up halfway, staring in consternation.

Gladio debated what to do next. Noct sometimes slept fitfully, but if it had been the other boys, Gladio would have roused them at this point; this, however, was a stranger, someone he barely knew and trusted even less. He owed the man nothing, and certainly not a good night's sleep.

But as long as he was tossing and turning, the likelihood that Gladio would get any rest either was slim. He needed to be alert in the morning.

Gladio's conundrum was brought to a close when the man shifted his head ever so slightly, and spoke soft into the air:

"Worried about me, dear?" The words were full of humor, but the voice was thin.

Gladio travelled with sarcastic dipshits day in and day out. He could tell when someone was unwell and trying to mask it. "You sound like you're in pain," Gladio said plainly.

The man made an amused noise. "I assure you, I'm perfectly comfortable."

Gladio remained unconvinced, but laid back down, arm under his head and eyes to the ceiling. Perhaps the man was just a restless sleeper.

"Apologies," the man whispered after a moment, and Gladio glanced over, but he fell silent.

 

The next time Gladio opened his eyes from a light doze, the bed shifted beneath him.

The man was sitting up. He had a hand pressed to his forehead.

Gladio raised himself on an elbow. "Anything the matter?"

There was a silence, and the man spoke in a hoarse croak. "Perhaps you could fetch me a glass of water?"

It wasn't much trouble. Gladio complied, softly opening the cupboard in the kitchen and fetching a glass. He checked over his shoulder on his other companions, three snoring dark lumps crowded in the sitting area. They didn't seem to be having any trouble staying fast asleep.

Gladio returned to the bedroom and handed over the glass.

"Thank you," the man said, accepting it. When their fingers brushed, Gladio nearly flinched back in alarm — the man's skin was hot, almost searing. But perhaps he was imagining it, the brief shock of contact lingering on his knuckles for no more than a second.

The stranger tilted his head back and drank in one long gulp. His throat muscles worked in the low light, glistening with a sheen of sweat.

He lowered his chin with a sigh, head bowed, and passed the glass back to Gladio. Gladio could've sworn the water he'd filled it with just a minute ago had been cold, but when he took the glass back, he thought he saw a wisp of steam drift from the rim. 

Gladio shook his head. "That all?"

Ardyn paused, elbows on his knees and shoulders hunched. "A blanket," he said at last, face still hidden in shadow. "I'm afraid I'm rather chilled."

Gladio sighed and retrieved a blanket from the closet. Ardyn took it gratefully. As Gladio settled back on the bed, Ardyn swung his legs back up and huddled beneath the blanket, shuddering just once before going still.

 

When Gladio woke again with a start, it was dark, darker than it had been before, despite the moon flooding in from between the blinds. Pale light striped the wall, the floor, the foot of the bed with hazy blue.

Something was wrong.

Gladio usually slept lightly, an instinct drilled into him from years of military training, but waking this time was like fighting his way through syrup. It couldn't have been more than an hour or two — the moon was still high — but he felt as if he'd been asleep for days, his head swimming with fog. Alarm bells battled with grogginess, and he blinked himself awake with a twitch.

His heart was racing, breath coming short. The room felt too small, coverlet scratchy against the bare skin of his arms, atmosphere heavy. There was a warm weight on his stomach.

A hand.

The stranger's hand, just over the top of Gladio's tank top. There was a line of heat down Gladio's side, too, of which he was slowly growing aware, pressure of a knee against the side of his leg. Gladio tensed and went still, panic instinct tamped down with the long-practice knowledge of _no sudden movements, do not fight back until you know what you are up against, do not alert your enemy that you are aware of a threat until you can respond —_

Gladio turned his head, neck oddly stiff and painful.

The stranger still appeared to be fast asleep.

He was nearer now, having turned over at some point during the night. Ardyn was by no means a short man, but he was curled up now on his side, hair tickling Gladio's shoulder, his cheek pillowed on his other arm. His brow was lightly furrowed, Gladio could see, and strands of his hair fluttered slightly with each exhale.

Something struck Gladio then, and would have rendered him speechless, if he had meant to grasp for words:

Ardyn looked kind of like Noct when he slept.

The same cheekbones, the same sharp jaw, dark lashes against pale skin. The same smudges of shadow underneath the eyes. The same hollows in the bone, shadows pooling in the dip between his neck and shoulder, the same delicate curve of ear. Ardyn was older, perhaps, but in slumber he seemed younger — or not younger, but softer. Strangely ageless.

It had to be a trick of the moonlight. It had to be.

Gladio swallowed. His throat was thick, dry, and he wondered if Ardyn _had_ lied, if he was ill with something that Gladio now had, something that made the room spin, the air more oppressive, the moonlight glare harsher.

As if in a dream, Ardyn opened his eyes.

Gladio froze.

Dark lashes made the man's eyes seem to glow in the dark, the fevered brightness of molten gold. Gladio swore he could see his own reflection caught in the irises — or perhaps it was a different reflection, the reflection of a thousand sparks of red, like sets of eyes in the dark, before the man blinked again, drowsy, comfortable.

"Forgive me," Ardyn murmured. "You're warm, and I so wanted..."

"So are you," Gladio said, voice raspy. Burning, in fact, whole body radiating a bone-dry heat, different from the sun on the desert sand or the air above the tarred roads, different from roasting campfires or hot engine exhaust, hotter than Lestallum in summer, hotter than the peaks of Ravatogh, something heady in the air.

"I've been told," Ardyn said. "Alas, I feel it not." He did shiver at that, and draw closer to Gladio, body hunching into itself.

Gladio felt something tighten in his gut. "Can't feel your own fever. Nobody can," he said, and he reached up to gently dislodge Ardyn's hand, feeling the heat through the cloth of the man's sleeves, feeling the bones in his wrist. "We can take you to a medic station tomorrow," he said. The doctors at the station would know what to do. They could check the rest of them, put Ardyn into quarantine, get the man whatever help he needed. _Keep him away from Noct._

Ardyn sighed. He hid his face deeper into the space between them. "Would that they could help," he said quietly.

The blankets twisted between them did little to dampen the _heat_. Ardyn pressed his face into Gladio's shoulder, nuzzling it, and Gladio reached up, hesitant, pressing the backs of his fingers against the man's temple. His skin was dry, searing. He leaned into the touch.

Ardyn watched him through lowered lashes, head tilted, catlike. Gladio swallowed.

"I could get you more water," Gladio said, half in hopes of trying to find an excuse to put some distance between them. His own voice is beginning to rasp oddly in his ears as well.

"No, thank you," Ardyn said. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd prefer it if... if you stayed still. It helps, with the dizziness." His breath was close enough to ghost across Gladio's throat.

With Gladio's hand pressed against his temple, there had been nothing to stop Ardyn from replacing his own hand on Gladio's abdomen. It lay there now, fingers slowly plucking at the fabric of his shirt. It should have made Gladio nervous. Somehow, it felt comforting instead.

His fingers seemed to be seeking something — more heat, perhaps, despite the fact that they were already burning-metal hot — they skimmed up timidly, then down again, and Gladio felt his breath catch when they found the skin between the seam of his shirt and his boxers.

 _Okay, that's enough,_ he wanted to say, but found himself choking on the words. Something was off.

Gladio tried to pull his hand back, but something seemed to keep it there, an invisible force, magnetic, and when he drew back just a breath, Ardyn hummed and followed, cheek to knuckles. Gladio shifted, but there was nowhere to go.

Ardyn opened his eyes and blinked idly at him again. Then he leaned in slightly, lips pressed to Gladio's fingertips, and opened his mouth slightly. Something grazed Gladio's palm — a breath, like steam or smoke or shadow. He felt the hand slip beneath his tank top.

"Hey," Gladio said, voice breaking.

The man turned over, one fluid movement, and straddled him. 

Gladio arched, a strangled noise escaping from his throat. He tried to push Ardyn off, but his sense of balance was shot; he felt weak, fevered himself, muscles trembling and room spinning. He'd lied, Gladio thought desperately. Poison, some status effect wreaking havoc on his nervous system; something was _wrong._

And then Gladio realized he was hard. Achingly so.

It could have been the adrenaline, panic singing hot in his veins, but it made no difference to Ardyn, who reached down and slid his hand up the side of Gladio's thigh, up his side, rucking up his shirt and settling on the skin just underneath his ribs. He shifted, pressure on Gladio's groin. Gladio hissed.

"Please," the man said with a shiver. It sounded like a moan. "Please."

Gladio's breath refused to come, weight on his chest heavier than a man should be, heavy like an MT, like a whole platoon of them, dark matter in human form. Ardyn leaned down, brought their pelvises together, needy whine. Gladio tried to turn his head away.

There was a hand in his hair. It teased lightly for a moment, almost reverent touch.

The man twisted and pulled, and crushed their mouths together.

The kiss tasted like copper, like slick black blood, sulfur fumes and chemicals, bitter and sour like medicine and old spiced wine. Gladio tried to pull away, but found himself pressing forward, feeling sharp teeth cut into his lower lip. It sucked whatever air was left out of Gladio's lungs, a burning match in a glass.

He could back away. Should. Should call his sword to his hand, press the cold steel between them, grounding and sharp. Should open his mouth and call for Ignis, call for Noct, call for anyone. Should disentangle himself, gently, and leave the room and shut the dividing door between them, step outside for a breath of fresh air. Whoever Ardyn was, he was feverish, ill, delirious; he probably didn't know what was happening, not really, didn't know he was rutting up against a stranger far from home.

But it was as if invisible hands were circling his wrists, his throat, digging into the hollow between his collarbones, pressing against his larynx, and Gladio's hands fluttered to Ardyn's knees at his sides. Fluttered away. Fluttered back.

The kiss broke. Ardyn nipped again at his lip, as if kissing the bruise there in apology. Then he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then his jaw, and his throat.

"Stop," Gladio said, hoarse. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Don't," the man said plaintively. "Don't tell me to go."

He nuzzled under Gladio's chin, nosing the skin of his neck. Lower. Gladio's jaw clenched.

Ardyn's fingers found one of Gladio's nipples through the thin fabric of his tank top. He scraped a nail against the sensitive peak of it, back and forth torturously slow, sensation going straight to Gladio's cock. A noise escaped him, cut-off groan.

Seemingly satisfied with the sound, Ardyn slid his knee between Gladio's legs. He rolled his hips forward, exhaled, bent, and used his teeth to pluck at Gladio's other nipple through his shirt.

Gladio's hand clamped down on the sheets, and only the void in his lungs stopped his scream from coming up. Gladio felt the hardness between the man's thighs digging into his leg. He ground up against his own will, muscles tight, shaking.

"Yes," Ardyn sighed.

Ardyn ignored Gladio's desperate silence and proceeded to grind into Gladio like it was the only thing that brought him relief, their bodies in jerking tandem, heat almost scorching, spiking with the rhythm enough that Gladio thought they might combust. The tight circular motion of his hips brought their hardnesses together every so often, a friction that left the room spinning. Gladio shut his eyes against it.

There were teeth at his ear, scraping against the shell of it.

"What's the matter?" Ardyn breathed.

Ardyn's free hand reached down, fingers twining between Gladio's, and moved to his own groin, settling there with tiny strokes, so that Gladio could feel how thick he was. He'd eased half-out of his trousers already, and Gladio could feel the smooth skin of the man's thighs, slippery with sweat.

Ardyn's next words were low, raw, a breathless rumble against his cheek:

"You can have me, you know."

He thrust forward into Gladio's hand.

And then quietly, almost ashamed: "If you want."

Gladio wet his lips, wet them again. "I don't," he managed.

"Take it anyway," the man said, pleaded, ordered, demanded, _begged,_ tone strung with need.

The absurdity of the moment struck Gladio, and he laughed shortly. "Pushy, aren't you?" It came out rough.

Ardyn made a hurt noise, and then purred a laugh. "You like that," he said dreamily. "Don't lie."

Gladio blinked into the dark, throat thick and eyes stinging.

 _How incredibly stupid,_ he thought, _can I be?_

 

Gladio's shirt was a lost cause by now, damp and rucked up high. Ardyn withdrew and slid down, settling between Gladio's legs, mouth sucking marks into his skin, just below the navel, between the jut of his hipbones into the air, his thumb and forefinger lingering to pinch at Gladio's nipple. Gladio's hand found the back of his head, fingers in the fine hair, and the man let out a muffled laugh. Slowly, Ardyn eased Gladio's boxers down, touch feather-light, to free his cock.

It was already slick with precome, the head sensitive to the thick night air. Ardyn slid one finger around its base, making a circle. He slid out his tongue, hummed, and gods, licked the underside, contact unhurried and wet, tongue crooked at the end to dip into the slit. Gladio bucked up involuntarily, but Ardyn didn't swallow him, weight of his elbows keeping Gladio down on the mattress.

Ardyn pressed his cheek to the flat of Gladio's stomach. He squeezed and moved his hand, a quick stroke upwards that had Gladio biting back a shout. He moved his fingers back down, stroked again, and Gladio twisted, straining, belly tight and clenched.

"Will you?" Ardyn said, and the words sounded slurred, delirious, lost. "For me?" His torso was pressed against Gladio's thighs, trapping him, writhing lightly, as if he craved the friction and the contact, as if he got off on just this, the closeness, on making Gladio squirm beneath him.

 _"Fuck,"_ Gladio said, voice raw and wrecked.

"Yes?"

"No," Gladio said brokenly.

Ardyn released him.

The cold was shocking. Deliriously, Gladio realized that the sudden chill was nothing but contrast — heat of skin and tongue and wet replaced by summer air, now freezing, like ice in his marrow. He wondered if the others, outside in the dark, could feel it.

Ardyn worked his way up slowly again, heat of his mouth on Gladio's hip, stomach, ribs, nipple, neck. The man kissed him again on the mouth, searing and deep and sweet and liquid, like swallowing the sun. Then, two elbows braced on either side of Gladio's head, he lowered himself, his entire body a line of heat flush against Gladio's bare torso, his thighs slick between Gladio's knees, his cock heavy on Gladio's stomach.

He moved, jaw tight, and clenched his legs, and Gladio thrust himself up between Ardyn's legs with a groan.

"Please," Ardyn said again, roll of the hips. Gladio's hips stuttered in reply, cock sliding into the tight space, slick drag of skin on skin.

Gladio wasn't sure how long it lasted, all his muscles straining, strung tight, hot clench of fire in his belly, sweat damp on his skin, slow rhythm working sore into his groin, his calves twitching, heels dug desperate into the mattress and fingers clenched in the sheets. The heat was velvet-soft, tight around his cock, pressure drawing taut inside him, and the only sounds he could hear were the gasps of breath close to his ear, mingled with his own — though he still couldn't draw air, as if he was drowning on just shadows.

Gladio was already close when Ardyn shuddered, wetness between them on Gladio's abdomen, but the man kept moving, drinking in the friction, hips riding it out. And then Ardyn reached down, head still bowed, and took Gladio's hand.

Ardyn slicked his lips. He took Gladio's thumb into his mouth.

He licked at it, silken hot wet flick of the tongue, and Gladio felt a deep shiver claim him. He made a noise, groan strangled in his throat. Ardyn laid his head on Gladio's chest and reached up with his free hand to press his wrist to Gladio's mouth, muffling any sound to come.

Gladio felt Ardyn smile, teeth on his knuckle.

Ardyn sucked hard.

He hollowed his cheeks around Gladio's thumb at the same moment he clamped his legs down on Gladio's cock, and Gladio's hoarse shout was lost in Ardyn's forearm, muscles all clenching at once, thighs shaking as his hips jerked forward and he came, long and hard, between the man's legs.

 

The room spun.

The moonlight was distant, too bright, a blur.

Gladio panted. His mind was racing, blank. He felt like he'd been punched in the chest by a red giant. Or an uttu, his muscles still spasming from fading electric shocks, almost painful. He let his eyes flutter closed, heavy, exhausted, hot breath on his skin too much.

Ardyn was a messy, warm weight on his chest, knee remaining between Gladio's thighs, but gone still. The searing heat from earlier seemed somehow duller, muted, and with it had gone the man's desperate restlessness. A sleepy contentedness had replaced it, his hand soft on Gladio's shoulder, a gentle slide of a finger against the ink on his skin, before he settled.

Ardyn was motionless for so long that Gladio thought he'd fallen asleep when he finally spoke, voice wistful.

"You're my shield, you know," he said quietly.

Gladio felt the coldness run like a prickle down his spine, like the tip of a knife trying to find a notch between the bones.

Ardyn shifted, face buried in his chest. "My knight," he sighed.

He didn't speak again.

Gladio lay awake for a long, long time afterwards.

 

The next morning, Gladio felt Ardyn's eyes linger on him, just the once, when he wasn't looking. It didn't happen again.

Gladio later found a bruise on his neck that he couldn't quite remember getting. By the time the sun hit noon, it had faded away.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what I was thinking and I have no excuse.
> 
> \- [mushydesserts.tumblr.com](https://mushydesserts.tumblr.com/)


End file.
